


At Least I Have You

by concon_man



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (tramp stamp), Aziraphale is a sweatheart, Crowley gets a tattoo, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Magical Tattoos, Short & Sweet, Snogging, Sumn said ethereal p o w e r s, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 11:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19392901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concon_man/pseuds/concon_man
Summary: "You're a sheep in wolf's clothing if I've ever seen one."





	At Least I Have You

"I have yet to understand why someone would blemish their skin with markings such as these." Aziraphale scrutinized, eyes narrowing in disapproval.

"You don't worry your pretty little head about it, angel," the demon waved his hand towards Aziraphale's general direction in dismissal. "It's a tattoo, not the end of the world, eh?"

They walked out of the tattoo parlor, heads held high, with the unearned confidence of all the humans around them that just barely dodged the clearly-not-so-inevitable apocalypse. Aziraphale reached for Crowley's plastic-wrapped arm nonetheless, criticizing the artwork with a scrunched up face and a pout. The floor swayed underneath their feet; it was the first full moon following the apocalypse-that-wasn't, and they'd gone out for some much-needed festivities. Not soon enough, Aziraphale's small bookshop came into view, and the two headed inside. Crowley didn't sleep that night - no, alternatively he decided to occupy the small couch Aziraphale owned, welcoming the regular flipping of a page from the ethereal being athwart him. He smiled sadly, daydreaming about how much sooner he could've had all this. He'd been such a fool in the past, he'd do anything to redeem his senseless actions. But now they had eternity ahead of them. And together, they would power through it.

* * *

Two weeks passed since Crowley got that tattoo. He was surprised it even clung to his otherworldly skin, but seldom did things make sense, and he was proof of it.

"Angel! Glad you've decided to grace me with your presence." a wicked smile stretched across his face, his nose scrunching up in the process. This remark was meant as a jab at the person in question - mind the reader -, who had left this hapless, feeble demon forlorn, for a total of three days. As it was, Aziraphale seemed to be in the midst of catering to another one of his customers. Crowley was starting to understand why Aziraphale discredited them to a point.

The angel, on the other side of the bookshop, acknowledged his friend with nothing more than a nod before scampering back to where the intruder had been left.

They had small and chubby fingers, much akin to the hands of a toddler - entirely unfit to handle the thin, fragile margins of a decaying book's pages. With this in mind, that same person reached out to Aziraphale's first edition copy of Dostoiévski's "Crime and Punishment", signed. With a defectively hidden distressed gasp, he plucked it out of the human's hands with a polite (perhaps forced) simper that disappeared as quickly as it made an entrance.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid this title has already...been spoken for." the human looked baffled. "In fact," the angel resumed, "look at the time! How uncourteous of me; have I yet again forgotten to update the closing schedule?, I'm afraid you'll have to make a swift exit, dear!"

And with that, he less than casually forced the poor individual out the door. Crowley leaned against one of the sparse barren walls in between bookshelves stacked to the brim, beaming throughout the entire exchange.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, Crowley."

"No trouble, I'm already au fait with your endeavors."

Gently, designedly, Aziraphale's gaze slipped to Crowley's exposed arm, now burdened with the intricate design - the upper half of a skeleton, cut off just by the ribs. Sharply defined and wide white wings on its back and a misshapen snake wrapped around and through the skeleton frame, its forked tongue a sharp, distinguished shade of dark red. The snake rests its head on the skeleton's upraised hand, much like a fancy animal scarf - a decoration - rather than a reptile, an elongated, legless, carnivorous, reptile.

Crowley gawked at Aziraphale's face, lifting his arm a bit more. "It healed faster than I was anticipating if I'm being honest. Perks of being a regenerating demon, yeah?"

Aziraphale agreed, leaning in as if seeking a closer glance, before stepping away completely. "I'm not quite certain what spurred you to defile yourself like such, but if you're pleased with the outcome," he raised his hands in mock defeat, smile back on his face.

Crowley snorted at the passive aggressiveness. "Have you eaten breakfast? How about we grab a bite to eat, angel? You've gotta pass by my flat - work your magic on what few plants are left."

"Right."

Aziraphale grabbed his coat, and off they went.

* * *

By the time they reached the flat, it was nearing midday, and the sun had belatedly made an appearance.

"Blimey, whatever have you done to the wretched plants? Last I was here they appeared to be in tiptop condition!"

"Personally," Crowley stated, "I like to think they slithered away after my last sacrificial offering. Now stop your chin wagging and do something." he finished, tongue in cheek.

Aziraphale stepped further inside, beginning to shoosh the pitiable assault victims. He laid the very tip of his fingers on a petite, potted plant's blemishes and dragged them down and away of the - now green - leaf. He repeated the method until he'd reached the larger, leafless flora. His fingers dawdled over the soil before he properly pressed his entire palm down, leaving behind the contour of his hand and observing as the leaves grew back, more vivid, flourishing, livelier than ever, Crowley noted. This was what his angel did best; bring things back to life. Restore. Improve. Crowley was rubbernecking at the display.

"There, my pretties. That should last you for a few weeks or so," Aziraphale took a step backward and faced Crowley's slitted eyes. "if their growth isn't interrupted, that is."

The angel looked away for but a second and when he glanced back, Crowley was standing by his side, peering at one of the larger plants. "I do the inverse, you know?" Aziraphale grimaced, cocking his head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

"If I touch them," he exemplified by approaching a large, healthy-looking leaf, "they decay." he hadn't brushed the plant yet and already it had started to wither. In a pulse, Aziraphale laid his hand upon the demon's and the withering grew more gradual until it halted completely. Carefully, the angel drew both their hands downward, clearing his throat.

"Imagine what I could be doing to you." Crowley pulled his hand away from Aziraphale's warm palm.

"Now, don't be silly, dear."

Crowley turned away and started walking towards his bedroom. Aziraphale accompanied, although in a not so rushed pace. The instant he got there, Crowley sank onto his bed, the soft mattress nearly inducing him to sleep. Some human inventions never failed. "I'm taking a nap," he declared, turning on his back, arm set beneath his head. "care to join me, angel?" he asked, motioning to the rest of the large bed with his free arm - the tattooed one. "Ah- I don't know if that would be a good idea-" before the angel could conclude, Crowley snapped his fingers. The blinds shut almost completely, the door slammed with a loud noise and he changed into a pair of dark red, velvet pajama bottoms. "C'mon. Live a little. Ain't nothing sinful about shutting the world off for a few hours. Plus, I reckon we deserve some time off, eh?" the demon tempted.

"I reckon you're correct, Crowley, nevertheless-" Aziraphale perched on the edge of the bed, fingers tangled as he tried explaining what a waste of time sleep was.

"Bollocks. Sleep with me, angel."

Aziraphale gave in, removing his shoes and jacket before reclining down next to the demon, stiff as a board and somewhat vexed, though he'd never admit it.

* * *

Sleep, to ethereal beings, is not needed. That being said, the notion of night and day is overlooked - Aziraphale had seen one too many angels sleeping away the first Great Falling in the very beginning. One would fall into a slumber an angel and rise back up a demon. Heaven expended quite a few angels during that era. Not that Falling was a sudden happening; it befell after one too many wrongdoings, but things were different at the time. Everything was new and with that, temptations became exceedingly popular; angels were being corrupted and the demonic lifestyle was slowly but surely seeping through the fissures of heaven. Ethereal beings could never tell how long they slept, and since sleep wasn't required, it turned into an exhibit of Sloth. Angels began to Envy demons, led by their Greed and, later on, their Wrath. But Aziraphale wouldn't have to worry about the higherups calling him out anytime soon, right?

Aziraphale roused first, startling himself. It was still bright outside; some lighting reaching them from the gaps in the shutters. He'd shifted sometime during his slumber as he was now resting on his side, facing Crowley's body. Crowley, on the other hand, had only turned his head away from the angel.

Aziraphale wouldn't dare disturb the demon's repose. Alternatively, his attention was drawn by the tattooed arm next to him, highlighted by the strip of light hitting it through the blinds. Making sure he wouldn't stir his friend, he drew his hand up and traced the tattoo. He met the head of the snake with his index finger and pulled it downward. It obeyed. The angel ran his finger down the other's arm, snake trailing similarly behind. He brought it back up, went around the remainder of the tattoo. The skeleton's wings fluttered softly. He followed each rib meticulously; the snake slid through them, going under, over, steadily. Aziraphale couldn't seem to take his eyes away from the current scene.

For experimentation purposes only, he brought his other hand up and wrapped the palm against the cold bit of Crowley's arm - the bit Aziraphale didn't touch - and with the hand commanding the snake, he brought it down and towards his hand. As expected, the snake traveled through both of them like the stream of a river connecting two junctures.

Next thing he knew, he was tracing the palm of his hand, making the snake slide circularly.

"You're smiling like an idiot. What's up?"

Being yanked from his stupor, Aziraphale peered up to observe Crowley still looking elsewhere, but unquestionably awake. His voice lacked the encompassing rumble of his day-to-day tone, Aziraphale noticed. When he received no response, Crowley hoisted himself up on his elbows and gazed at his guardian angel. His hair was flatter on the side he'd slept on.

Attempting to restrain himself, Aziraphale raised his hand, where he'd made the snake from Crowley's tattoo settle, in a half-open circle. Crowley narrowed his eyes and grasped his wrist, resting it on his lap. Swiftly, he glanced at his arm to see the tattooed snake missing, "You stole my tattoo!" he exclaimed, indignant. "How in the hell d'you do that?"

"Here," Aziraphale sat up. "I'll show you." and then he resumed tracing his skin, and now there were four pairs of eyes following the snake. It traveled to the back of his pale hand and Aziraphale pressed it against Crowley's chest unabashedly, intending to return the ink to its owner. Crowley regarded it all in awe.

The tattoo, now in his chest, sat still as if awaiting orders, before Aziraphale led it by the tip up Crowley's collarbone, over his shoulder, down his arm, and back where it fitted. Crowley's skin heated up under Aziraphale's touch and when the angel retrieved his hand, he covered his arm with his hand. Aziraphale was expeditious to put his hand on top of the demon's.

"Well aren't you just full of intrigues, angel," Crowley said, snickering. They stared at their hands, Crowley's first impulse being to pull away, but finding himself confined under Aziraphale's steady grip.

"It appears that way, yes." their voices dropped to a whisper, in an effort to maintain the thick air flowing for a bit longer.

Crowley swallowed drily, watching Aziraphale's face; his eyes, full of the wonder and amazement one only has as a new life form, his lips, half open, and most certainly compliant. Crowley licked his lips absentmindedly, "How d'you sleep, angel?"

In a twist of events that neither could begin to unfold, they met midway, locking lips like they were each others' one and only life force. Spurred by courage alone, they refused to pull away just yet. Aziraphale took his hand away from its place atop Crowley's and relocated it up to the demon's throat, trembling thumb ascertaining his jaw. Crowley, more straight forward, took hold of Aziraphale's button up shirt at the front and handled it as leverage, swinging his leg around to the other side of Aziraphale's lap, confining him. Lured him closer, kissed him deeper, and wished to a God he didn't kneel before that this moment wouldn't end until the next apocalypse threat. Perhaps even after that. He wouldn't mind letting the apocalypse eradicate everything and everyone if it meant he could linger here and be held by the one being that would ever love him, not in spite of his flaws, but because of them. He was smitten; who'd have thought snogging an angel would cause such an outburst of love in a demon? He was hesitant to let go, afraid the angel didn't feel the same, fearful the angel would have regrets.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was quite relaxed, given the situation at hand. He had a lanky demon on his thighs, kissing him with such fervor he knew he couldn't keep up with. Could this be considered corruption? Who exactly was corrupting who? It didn't matter, Aziraphale concluded. Now and here, that mattered. Every second that passed, he became more and more lost in all this passion. And anyone who opposed it could be damned to hell.

The kissing grew more intense, messier, and Crowley couldn't help but pull apart, gasping for breath and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, as he looked at anything but the angel in front of him. His blood rushed to his cheeks from Aziraphale's intent staring and he anathematized this human form.

They both tarried silent for a fraction, catching their breath before Crowley spoke up, "I'm sorry." and he'd said it so softly, Aziraphale wouldn't have caught it unless he was explicitly expecting it. "For what?" he replied, hands voluntarily coming to rest on the demon's thighs.

"For...not having done this sooner, I suppose," Crowley gave in, now looking directly at the angel. "If I had known this was how you'd react..." he punctuated his sentence with a hearty chuckle.

"For how long?" Aziraphale questioned, and in that precise moment, you could hear his smile by the way he spoke. You could feel the sun, the love, the heart-aching trust, it was all there. In those three words.

"How long what?"

"For how long have you desired this?"

Crowley let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding. "I don't know. From the start?"

Aziraphale thought back to the first time they met, "Six thousand years..."

"Well, that's when it began, at least," Crowley muttered, thinking back on how infatuated he'd become with the angel throughout all these years. It'd be hard not to, anyone would fall in adoration of Aziraphale. And several did, so much so that Crowley felt the need to retreat to his solitude for a bit before he'd collapse out of jealousy. If Aziraphale had sufficient love for all those pesky humans, why not for him? Turns out, Crowley just happened to be a distinct genus of thick when it came to these things. Or possibly he wouldn't allow himself fall for Aziraphale - an angel and a demon falling in love? Aziraphale would most likely Fall. Crowley wouldn't be able to tolerate the guilt, more so conceding he'd be seen as a high tier demon in hell for getting an angel to Fall; he'd be praised through and through. For making an angel Fall. For making his angel Fall. For making Aziraphale Fall. No, he couldn't.

But here they were, and Aziraphale seemed fine, more than fine, rosed cheeks and a newfound glint in his eyes. Beaming. Elated.

Demons couldn't un-Fall, but Crowley felt more heavenly than ever.  
He kissed him again for good measure, a chaste kiss. "And yourself?"

"I fell for you through the ages, dear. You're a sheep in wolf's clothing if I've ever seen one." Aziraphale said, keeping Crowley near him with a hand on his neck; he felt like he'd implode if he opened his eyes. Perchance when he did, Crowley wouldn't be there anymore. Physical manifestations could be eluding so, for now, he had a bit of a Schrödinger's cat situation. Until he opened his eyes, until he allowed himself to see, Crowley both was and wasn't there. Aziraphale could take that.

"You're thinking too hard, angel," Crowley said, leaning back, smiling, "I can tell."

The angel agreed, clearing his throat, "Yes, you're probably correct." Not much had changed, then. The remainder of the day went by in an instant, in-between kisses and declarations of love, and Crowley ended up falling asleep on top of his angel, tranquil. Aziraphale couldn't help but rest his eyes, lullabied by the soft pounding of Crowley's heart.

  
When they woke up, six months had passed, and neither could be bothered to care.


End file.
